


If The Stars Aligned (One Shots Collection)

by Highlightlover4693



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-06-28 16:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15710670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highlightlover4693/pseuds/Highlightlover4693
Summary: A series of one shots (Some of them AU) featuring multiple pairings, riders and situations.1. Dani/Jorge2. Vale/Marc AU3. Marc/Vale4. Alex/Luca AU5. Vale/Marc AU6. Marc/Vale Christmas AU





	1. Will You Look After Me? (Dani/Jorge)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorge has heard he is sick. Their encounters might not usually be of that sort, but he's not willing to acknowledge what brings him to check up on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy race weekend for everyone out there and thanks so much in advance for reading <3
> 
> Pd: Another new chapter tomorrow...Enjoy <3

_2012_

 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He can imagine that the question is meant to come out rude. But, to be honest, rudeness has always been his thing, not Dani's. Besides, his harsh voice and the nasal tone the words acquire because of his clogged nose are more likely to get a smile out of Jorge, rather than a frown.

"Isn't it evident? I heard you were sick" he closes the door of the Honda rider's hotel room as quietly as possible, swiftly sliding the key card Dani gave him two days ago back into the front pockets of his jeans, for later use.

The sight his finds himself in front of, though, is way too adorable to be true, making Dani's supposedly harsh words lack any kind of effect. The older rider his crawled up on the couch, surrounded by pillows and blankets, that he doesn't seem to be doing a good use of. The sleeves of his hoodie cover his arms entirely, his delicate hands no longer visible, and Jorge has to bite back an appreciative groan when he comes closer and confirms that the piece of clothing is actually his. He had probably forgotten it at Dani's motorhome after one of their encounters. And after this gorgeous view he's not planning to get it back.

"No shit, Lorenzo. And coming here seemed like a good idea to you, didn't it? Of course" The short rider scowls, eying him severely. Jorge can't keep the smirk inside this time, cause damn it if grumpy Dani is not one of the cutest things he gets to see "You could get infected, you asshole"

The short rider crosses his arms, presumably in an attempt of showing his discontent, and Jorge must admit that his gaze might have looked as frightening as usual if it wasn't for the light blush on his cheeks or the soft redness around the tip of his nose. Cute. And he hardly should be thinking about his biggest rival, his opponent, his intermittent, ocasional lover as cute. No subjective, emotional strings attached, that had been their pact. But when the heck had thinking about Dani without feeling his stomach fill with a fleeting tingle become so hard?

"Wow, that almost sounded like concern" he teases, the thought of the short rider really caring about his health feeling ridiculously good. Ridiculously fulfilling.

"Fuck you" Dani mutters under his breath, the pinky tone on his cheekbones getting a shade darker, the change not going unnoticed to Jorge. His smile only widens when the older pretends to glare at him.

"Doesn't seem like a good moment for that, does it?" He jokes, not able to hold back as his hand comes in contact with Dani's short hair, affectionately ruffling the smooth strands, something he had missed more than he should. Dani's skin feels hot, his brain registers suddenly. He takes out one of the pills he had purposely brought out of one of the zipped pockets at the sides of his jacket, making quick work of fetching a bottle of water "Take this"

"Why?" Dani frowns, his dark eyes not losing sight of him for a single second.

"Because it will make you feel better" he answers, while his hands get a hold of the pillows to make a decent spot to seat on, close to Dani's feet.

"I hate taking medicines" the Honda rider complaints before swallowing the pill down his throat. _I know you do, you have needed them way too much during your career._ Jorge's chest tightens a bit a the thought of it. What he wouldn't give for Dani to be okay "And since when does my well being worry you?"

The question comes unexpectedly, the moment too opportune, as if the older had read his mind.

"Fuck you" he shots back defensively, mirroring Dani's comeback at his previous allusion of concern. They shouldn't be having any of that.

"Not today, Lorenzo" Dani pays him with the same coin, reproducing his previous joke. Still, it might be the first time Jorge doesn't find it amusing. He must confess it kind of hurts, as if couldn't visit Dani without the usual, established pretext "Seriously, though"

The apparent mask of anger has disappeared from Dani's features, adopting a curious, playful expression that if Jorge didn't knew better he could have mistaken with fondness.

"I want all my rivals at their best level. I don't like easy victories" he voices, rescuing his usual speech, anything that hides the dangerous, forbidden territory his heart is approaching.

"Of course. My bad, shouldn't have asked" Dani turns his gaze towards the ceiling, Jorge suddenly missing the weight of his scrutinizing gaze against his body.

"Besides, I might have been a bit worried about you, you know" he finds himself blurting out while his elbows casually find support on his knees, the need for Dani to know that becoming overwhelming strong. _I want you to know you are not just some sort of entertainment for me. I need you to know that for me, you are more than that. You always have._

The honest words keep themselves caged in his mind, the truth suddenly too scary to come out entirely, freely. Not yet. But miraculously, the underlying meaning of it all seems easy for Dani to catch, his gleaming eyes, due to the fever, flashing with something that has nothing to do with a simple cold.

He doesn't see it coming; how his fellow rider throws away the couples of pillows separating them, how he sifts under the blanket, revealing how low the hem of Jorge's hoodie reaches, almost mid-tight, looking absolutely irresistible on him. His heart squeezes inside his chest when Dani carefully places his head on his shoulder, his little frame fitting perfectly against the Yamaha rider's body, his delicate arms circling securely their way around it.

And it's so nice. So incredibly, terrifyingly nice, that for a second, the only feeling he can find remotely familiar is winning a title. When has Dani managed to crawl under his skin like that? Since when cuddling with him could resemble the satisfaction of achieving something he has seeked his whole life? Why does this feel way more perfect than sleeping with him?

"Thank you, Jorge" he feels Dani purr against the fabric of his own sweater, prying so the older doesn't hear the way his heart speeds up. He might be confused, he might be emotionally lost, but he's not willing to let this opportunity go without making the most of it. He circles Dani's shoulder, attracting him as close as possible, his senses tingling when his receptors identify the Honda rider's familiar scent. His fingertips start tracing random patterns on his biceps, absolutely at their own accord, Dani's little sighs of approval coming out reassuringly "You are welcome. By the way, I'm a bit upset, you know. You look way better in this hoodie than me"

He doesn't even need to see Dani's face when he points out the to know that there is a smirk there. That fucking adorable bastard.

"Good to know. Because you're not getting it back" he mumbles, if anything, burying himself further under Jorge, like a cat begging to be stroked, his heat warming up every single nerve ending of his body. He lets out a low chuckle, way more pleased with the answer than he should. He's not able to hold back when the urge to plant a kiss against Dani's neck becomes too much. He simply does it. Because it's sincere, because he feels like it.

Maybe one of them should catch a cold more often, if it's enough to get them here.

Things between have never been easy, and he suspects they'll never be. But right now, Jorge wouldn't want them any other way.

 

 


	2. The Bar Between Us AU (Marc/Vale)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a bartender, Valentino comes across a fair amount of good-looking people. But this one is for sure something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, it's really appreciated ❤

It's a busy Saturday night, second week of September, when he shows up for the first time during his shift. Well, it's not technically his shift, (or wasn't, at least) but Valentino has the feeling that it would become his after all. Most definitely.

He briefly curses Danilo under his breath as he dries drinking glasses the faster his hands allow. His friend, roommate and co-worker appearing as the only responsible for the unsettling change of schedule he's currently suffering. But there is nothing he can do about it. How could he refuse a swap of shifts in order to facilitate his flatmate's romantic life?

A chuckle almost makes it out of his chest as his mind replays the exact moment his friend had displayed his best version of the puppy eyes (which looked way more comical than coaxing in such a big guy) had harassed Valentino with it and begged tirelessly until he had agreed to swap shifts, cause, as he wouldn't stop to remind him; Valentino didn't do relationships anymore. Yeah, Danilo better made the most of the little amount of spare time this absurd rearrangement allowed him to spend with his girlfriend and make this all worth it.

Valentino still wasn't fully used to the nightly habit of work, sleep deprivation slowly taking its toll on him and for sure he had to rush a little bit more than before if he didn't want to be late to their Master's degree classes. But to be honest, the high salary, the grateful looks and being praised as the "saviour of their relationship" according to Danilo, once he got to their flat at dawn became enough for him. He deep down knew that his friend would do the same if it was the other way around.

A fleeting touch on his back wakes him up from his mental rumbling, the sound of clinging glasses, loud conversations and deafening music vibrating under his skin, his brain quickly registering the familiar atmosphere surrounding him. He smiles briefly at Maverick when the younger makes it past him, acknowledging Valentino with a quick nod as he reaches for a couple of liquor filled bottles from one of the highest shelves. He can't help but notice the tense look on his new co-worker's face, the rushed movements and agitated actions, which almost rips a compassionate sigh out of his lungs. Because yeah, how crowded the bar gets on weekend nights can be pretty intimidating at first.

If he was asked later, in any other context or circumstance, he would deny it with all his might, his huge pride unable to admit to anyone but himself how much he missed Jorge's presence by his side behind the bar at this precise moment. Specially when said counter looked longer, wider and fuller than ever. Maybe they have never really gotten along, but he could definitely use Lorenzo's efficiency and speed at pouring drinks right now. Valentino doesn't know how many times he had debated this with their boss; he has always thought that Jorge's capacity was wasted on the relaxed weekdays shift, the majorcan could probably take care of the pub by himself from Monday to Thursday without Andrea or Danilo's help. Unfortunately, Mr. Jarvis always made pretty clear who made the decisions there.

On the brigh side, he's fairly used to this already, his system effortlessly working, almost out of reflex, his hands going from one task to another pretty fast. He even allows himself to release a laugh when Cal fist-bumps him as he places the tray on the dark surface of the counter for the nth time that night. The shiny, metallic object waiting to be filled with the almost endless petitions the british passes him.

"Fuck, how I hate Saturday nights. It's madness out there" the words leave the waiter's mouth followed by a huff, the tips of his fingers exaggeratedly rubbing his temples.

"Bet you wouldn't hate them if you were on the receiving end" Valentino chuckles as he hastily starts placing ice cubes on clean glasses. He's tempted to press a few of them against the back of his neck, his skin overheating under his black shirt. He uses a spare second to roll the sleeves up to his elbows. _This place needs way more sources of ventilation._

It feels as if the corporal heat of every single human being bottled up on the dance floor radiated towards him, engulfing him in the most suffocating way. He'll for sure end up the night smelling like shit, the thought nearly ripping a grimace off his features. He won't allow himself to slip under his sheets without hitting the shower first, regardless of the ungodly hour or the level of tiredness his body might have reached.

"Yeah, good times. I'll try it, though, coming here my next free weekend and pushing around all your lazy asses" a mischievous flash crosses Cal's gaze, and Vale can't hold back another laugh, the image alone tinting the sound with amusement.

He almost can't remember the last time he had gone out and partied properly, though. Probably the first semester of college, more than four years ago, when everything seemed to lack importance and consequences, before the serious business started and everything kept on getting more and more earnest. But, strangely enough, he doesn't miss the crazy drunk nights neither the meaningless flings as much as he thought he would. Those kind of things must have left with the remnants of his teenage self. 

He has barely finished putting the last ordered drink on Cal's tray when he's called once again, taking his head back to where it should be. He really needs to stop his mind from fooling around while working. Luckily, concentration appears just in time when a bunch of faces he won't even remember tomorrow voice their orders, Valentino's mind quickly listing all of them, nodding when they seem done, his limbs already anticipating to the next orders. He heads towards the opposite side of the counter, already eying the storage room door.

The other corner of the dark metallic bar seems that bit more crowded, he notices. Nonetheless, Maverick is pretty much mirroring his actions, the only difference being the little note pad he quickly scribbles on. _They'll eat you alive if you keep on being that methodical_. Valentino is about to smirk once again, he's not that much older than his co-worker, but in these kind of details the age gap between them becomes abysmal. _He'll end up getting used to it, though. He'll learn_. Like he did.

He squeezes behind him, the almost non-existent distance between the shelves full of alcohol bottles and the counter probing itself insufficient again. Valentino takes the chance to pat his shoulder in a reassuring manner, Maverick corresponding the gesture hurriedly, his smile coming up most likely to be a grimace.

And that's when he catches a glimpse of _him_ for the first time.

Maverick is taking the order of a little group of guys, neither of them looking older than himself, but his eyes get involuntarily dragged by one among the reduced group in particular.

It's been quite a while since someone's beauty had caught his attention so blatantly while working. He usually doesn't allow himself to look at customers _that way_ as long as he is behind the counter. The last time he had let it happened it had been Linda, and well, he wasn't willing to follow that path _ever again._ How every single one of his relationships ended up in bloody complicated disasters he didn't know. That's why he had finally drawn the line. He has had enough.

But fuck, this boy was worthy of being admired. He wasn't very tall, Valentino didn't need to see the rest of his body, covered by the bar, to notice. But his face seemed carved by chisel. Naturally tanned skin, high cheekbones and sharp jaw, that curiously enough, didn't bring down the boyish, restless glint those nearly black eyes held.

Their gazes lock for the briefest second and the obnoxiously intense shiver that shakes Valentino's nerves from head to toe is definitely enough to make every single mental alarm go off. He averts his eyes as soon as possible, struggling to concentrate back on his main, original task; getting to the storage room to take the boxes of beers he needed.

 _Right_.

He involuntarily shakes his head once he has reached the private cubicle. It was nothing. A blow of cold air. He'll probably forget about it in an hour or so. At the end of the night, if his brain doesn't cooperate, tiredness would for sure take care of it.

Despite his pathetic attempts at downplaying it, though, he surely can't decide if he's glad or disappointed at his apparent inability to spot that face again during his remaining hours of work.

  
~*~

 

Next Friday night comes unexpectedly fast, the perspective of the weekend very far from the pleasing, funny mess it used to be. 

His head is already throbbing when he pulls off his helmet and hops off the bike. Before he has reached the service access door at the back of the building, he can already hear the hordes of people already filling the street, perfectly visible from his position. Yeah, exactly what he needs, as if the long days of classes hadn't been enough. He silently curses Danilo for the nth time that month, the action repeating itself way more often than before. He wasn't in his right mind when he agreed to this. Definitely not.

He tugs at his earring, giving in to the involuntary reflex before he sheds his jacket, Maverick's dark blue one already hanging on the rack. _He's nothing if not professional_ , Valentino values, throwing a quick glance at his wrist, where his watch gives away that he's seven minutes late, indeed. _Not the first time, probably won't be the las_ t. He really needs to start being more punctual. It's definitely one of his worse flaws.

He's just put one foot out of the storage room when he decides then and there, that it will be one hell of a night, the neon lights and the vibrations coming out of the speakers, combined with the suffocating amount of people making their way in, enough to set all his limbs into movement.

It starts as a night like any other, he and Maverick hurriedly attending every single petition in the shortest amount of time possible while Cal elbows his way towards the zone of tables, and Valentino still wonders, after all these weeks, how the heck does he manage to get to his destination with the cups and glasses intact, not a single drop spilled. There had been a time, back when he had just started working there, in which he would have done anything to cover that task. Walking around feeling much more liberating than being caged behind that counter. Now, though, he knew that there was absolutely nothing liberating behind Cal's job. Thank god Mr. Jarvis had completely ignored his petition back then. 

"Hey, would you mind taking care of everything for a minute? Gotta pick up, important call" Viñales asks a few meters away from him, waving his vibrating cell phone gripped around his fingers, as if to proof his point.

Valentino quickly nods, catching the order Maverick hands him, the bottles of beer clinging when he points out who has asked for them, the thin coat of frost attached to the crystal sticking and melting against his fingertips.

The group of boys looks slightly familiar, the customers that frequent the club on weekends nights starting to get vaguely known for his brain. There is a really short guy at the other side of the counter, and if Valentino wasn't that sleep deprived he would probably find hilarious the way he struggles to get his elbows comfortably on the counter. The huge blue eyes of the blonde guy beside him light up when he sees the alcohol coming their way, a few other guys behind him noticing as well. And when Valentino finally recalls the other ocassion he has saw them here it's already too late.

Mr. Short (yeah, his brain is _that_ original at this point of the day) pats sloppily the shoulder at his left, his other friend apparently too busy talking with a couple of individuals behind him. But when he turns around and Valentino's eyes fall on him, he swears the shiver that makes his flesh stand is identical to last Saturday's one. The handsome boy he saw six nights ago stares back at him, his eyes widening for the briefest second, making Vale positively wonder if he has something on his face to be observed that intensely.

"There you go, guys" he goes for the friendly, light tone he reserves for customers. Fortunately, he has learned how to get over these fleeting, minute long crushes. He couldn't work here if he freezed everytime someone attractive glanced over at him.

He slides the bottles towards them easily, handing the ticket to Mr. Short, who honestly seems to be in charge of everything. He hadn't thought it would be possible, but despite his height his earnest gaze looked quite intimidating.

"Marc! Come on, stop ogling the bartender and pick up the drinks!" Valentino suddenly hears a brunette guy with a wide smile shout out jokingly, his stomach executing a brief but overwhelmingly unsettling movement when he discovers he's talking to the cute boy, whose cheeks, he wouldn't have to look at to imagine so, had acquired an evident warmer nuance. 

"Shup the hell up, Aleix" the boy -Marc, his brain corrects, pathetically happy for having found out what's his name- hisses while he almost crashes the freezing bottle against his friend's chest. And damn, if being flustered doesn't make him look even more beautiful. Valentino barely suppresses the urge to slap himself, because seriously, he should be over this kind of things already. 

"Sorry, they are embarrassing" Mr. Short tells him in a monotone voice, his serious expression not wavering for a single second as if these kind of things occurred regularly. And going by the mischievous, cheerful look in some of their faces, he doesn't doubt it "Here"

"Thanks, be right back" he takes the couple of bills Mr. Short slides over to him, his head already making the calculations of change as he heads to the cash register. He swiftly types the combination, his fingers moving nimbly over the sections, picking up the necessary coins in automatic motions.

When he comes back he finds Mr. Short immersed in an apparently secret, low volume conversation with Marc, while they throw brief glances his way, and Valentino is almost tempted to tell them that discretion is not their thing. Plus, he highly doubts the whispering part is entirely necessary given the deafening mixture of noises the club is flooded with. Still, he blatantly ignores the voice in his mind which stupidly suggests that they are in fact talking about him. Ridiculous. As obvious as they are.

"And that's it. Thank you" he announces with a polite smile, letting the change fall into Mr. Short extended hand while he tries as hard as he can to ignore his friend's eyes. Goodness, if the boy keeps on looking at him like that he's sure he will end up losing it.

"Okay, let's go" Mr. Short nods, taking a hold of Marc's rolled up sleeve, as if to oblige him to get away from the counter, while he tries to distract himself with another group of customers. Valentino tries to not give any sort of importance to the way his stomach sinks when he sees them disappear in between the crowd.

 

~*~

 

Fortunately or unfortunately, he can't decide (Because honestly, at this point he doesn't even know what he wants anymore) the night is long enough for them to stop by the bar again. The third time he sees him, he's apparently waiting to be attended again, the body language of the lanky blonde boy by his side clearly giving away that he's teasing his friend mercilessly. Nonetheless and curiously enough, Marc doesn't look too bothered by it, if his momentarily evident amusement is anything to go by. But god, Valentino almost drops the glass he's filling when he sees him smile for the first time, for a crazy second wondering if this is some kind of trial and an actual angel as been sent his way to test his self control. Right, it's official, he isn't thinking rationally anymore.

That much is proved when he heads their way decidedly, strangely grateful at the fact that Maverick doesn't seem to have noticed them yet.

"So, what can I get you?" He asks as smoothly as he can, not failing at noticing how the drumming of Marc's fingers on the counter picks up speed when he comes closer.

Just like his own heartbeat when he finally allows himself to look at him shamelessly, directly, and fuck, he's even more attractive up close. The greenish, pinky neon lights cast a mesmerizing glow over his flawless complexion and carefully styled mop of dark hair. Valentino's fingers automatically reach up to graze the earrings on his left ear, his nervous tick keeping him from giving in to the impulse of running his hands through the seemingly really soft strands. 

"Marc, why don't you order while I pee?" the blonde guy asks out of the blue (while Valentino helplessly checks out his friend) and loud enough for him to hear perfectly. He suspects that was the actual, original intention, but apparently surprising Marc just as much. The guy pats his friend on the back while he articulates a ridiculously exaggerated wink, swaggering his eyebrows towards Vale in a quite evident way. If he had had any doubt about the attraction being reciprocated, Marc's friends had embarrassingly made perfectly clear that it was. And no, it absolutely doesn't send a warm wave of heat up his body.

"You little shi-" the boy starts swearing before his so called friend disappears, coming to a halt abruptly, as if suddenly aware of the situation he has been left in. His ebony eyes turn to him, vivid and sparkling "I...fuck, sorry about that and about what happened before, they are idiots and he's also pretty drunk already so..."

Valentino swears a curse had never sounded so good on someone's voice before, the corners of his mouth jerking up immediately at the attempt of apology.

"It's okay" he dismisses, because no, he honestly doesn't mind, not one bit when it has apparently gotten this stunning creature here "Don't worry about it. I must confess I'm a bit hurt, though. I guess the teasing has nothing to do with me, after all"

If his shift has just started and the boy wasn't this intoxicatingly close, finally talking to him, Valentino would have probably banged his head against the nearest available surface. And a part of him still thinks it would be the right thing to do. But the other part honestly doesn't care anymore, cause since when has he been willing to throw away the opportunity to chat with such a beauty? He just has to make sure it doesn't mean anything, in the end.

_It will not._

For a couple of seconds, Marc seems startled at his unexpected teasing, but the next moment (and Valentino doesn't think he has ever seen someone's expression change that quickly) those eyes sparkle with a thrilling cheeky gleam that was definitely hidden before, as if he had been granted access to a previously forbidden area.

"I didn't say that" he counteracts swiftly, his head tilting ever so slightly, as if he was carefully trying to analyse Valentino with detail under his absurdly thick eyelashes.

"No? Could have fooled me" he retaliates ironically, suddenly wanting, needing to test Marc's limits a little bit. Just a bit.

And there it is, that fucking smile, exclusively directed at him, and his brain blocks for a second, his rational thinking shutting down, cause how the hell can someone be that ridiculously pretty? 

"I'm Marc" he extends his hand over the bar, the mischievous, playful spark in his gaze intensifying. He almost blurts out the _I know_ , that would have definitely embarrassed him to a point of no return, giving away that he had been paying way too much attention to the gorgeous stranger he has in front. In the end, he manages to hold it back, nearly unable say anything at all when the palms of their hands make contact.

"Valentino" he pronounces softly, the hair attached to his flesh standing on end when Marc licks his wickedly appealing lips in a way that does something to his insides he's absolutely not ready to analyse yet.

"Of fucking course" the boy muses as the handshake ends, too quickly for his taste, and Marc proceeds to comfortably place both elbows on the surface between them, leaning almost imperceptibly towards him while Valentino frowns curiously, not fully catching the meaning of his words "You had to be italian"

The lightest, most sincere laugh he has articulated in a long time makes it past his throat, Marc's refreshing presence turning out to be oddly electrifying, as if tiredness had suddenly vanished from his system, replaced with raw strikes of energy.

"I don't know if I should take that as a compliment" he whispers, tilting his head in amusement, examining Marc's posture. He doesn't need to see him in another context to figure out that he must be an earthquake, as if he was constantly looking for a new spot to fix his attention on. 

"It was" the boy mutters, giving him a fleeting once over that sets his skin on fire and godness, it's becoming increasingly hard for Valentino to not get worked up.

"The name gave it away?" he plays along, absolutely adoring the way Marc's skin reflexes the colourful lights above them, casting an almost ethereal glow around him.

"The sexy accent did" Marc answers nonchalantly, momentarily delighting Valentino with that boldness. Marc's expression is no longer that smiley but it still holds a magnetic kind of interest Vale can't help feeling mesmerized by "The story of what has gotten you here, so far from home, must be pretty interesting"

"Not that much, to be honest" he shrugs, deliberately ignoring the innuendo hidden in the sentence, just to tease Marc a little bit. Disappointment looms over his precious features and Valentino's slightly mean brain doesn't want to acknowledge how much that reaction actually flatters him "Too long to be told behind a bar in a night like this one. Maybe over a coffee"

He only realizes his mistake once the words are already out of his big mouth. Incredible. Here he had been, twenty minutes ago, self pitying his previous painful, difficult relationship experiences, swearing he wouldn't fall for it that easily ever again. And here he was now, asking this ravishingly pretty costumer out on a date a the first opportunity given. 

But the frustrating remorses vanish as fast as they had appeared, because Marc's marvelled expression it's definitely worth it. He resembles dangerously accurately a kid in a candy store, as if he couldn't believe his suggestion had actually been accepted. 

"I would love that" he whispers, enchanting smile on full display, sincere, light and fucking perfect, his impressively dark irises attracting his own like magnets, and since when has looking at someone in the eyes felt that disturbingly intense?

Unfortunately, the pleasing bubble they had apparently managed to create around them bursts brusquely with the thin sound of broken glass, Valentino cursing at the sigh of flustered Maverick at his right, crounched on the floor over the remains of what used to be a cup.

The adorably guilty glance Marc throws him rivals with the one he should be dedicating his co-worker. 

To make matters even worse, Maverick doesn't seem to have noticed his little, improvised break, nodding gratefully at him when he kneels to help him clean the mess, which honestly, only makes Valentino feel ten times more deplorable. He would do his best to compensate the momentary unbalance in their combined activity. It shouldn't happen again. 

But he won't lie, his heart does indeed plummet that bit more when he throws a glance over his shoulder, to find the spot on the bar previously taken by Marc no longer occupied.

His hand is already scrubbing the surface of the counter with a damp rag when he comes across a folded napkin, the base of a glass keeping it from being taken or thrown away, besides it, one of the pens Viñales still keeps here and there to write down the bigger orders. And Valentino had never been more grateful for it.

«Tito came back from the bathroom jaja ;P Sorry for holding you up. Btw, we still need to set a place and an hour for that coffee, guess I'll have to come back tomorrow.  
-Marc xx ;)»

He involuntarily nips at his lower lip, a grin whose meaning he's not willing to discuss with himself yet, taking over his features.

It shouldn't have meant anything.

He tries to convinces himself of the fact that it might go wrong in the end, while his hands work swiftly, moving from one task to another with ease, the night continuing like any other.

But anything feels the same.

Maybe it doesn't have to mean anything yet, but perhaps he has to thank Danilo, after all. Because it's impossible to deny that the perspective of tomorrow night has increased its appeal enormously.

He shouldn't. But he almost can't wait.


	3. What We Could Have Been (Marc/Vale)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if the 2015 season hadn't been the way it was? What if Sepang 2015 never happened? What if what has always linked them together had never been broken?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of AU Rosquez 
> 
> Thank you so much for stopping by to anyone who did and don't hesitate on leaving a comment if you feel like it. Enjoy <3

**_August, 2018_ **

 

Marc loves these days.

He loves these kind of weekends as much as the race ones. If not more.

It still surprises him sometimes, that something as simple as this has, just like that, managed to own its solid place in his heart. The place besides motorcycle racing, the sound of engines, the smell of rubber and the noise of the paddock. They are almost opposites, if he thinks about it. This kind of Saturdays are the perfect counteract to qualifying ones. Instead of the constant tickling of his mental clock, the constant battles against time itself and the always irritating election of tyres, he's only engulfed by calmness, by soothing silence, by early light. Well, _they_ both are, to be precise. And here comes his favourite part of all this.

 _Him_.

He has witnessed this scene a fair amount of times. The elements that conforms it nearly repeat themselves each time. But for Marc, it's never the same. None is identical to the previous ones. Each shared weekend brings him a new precious detail he'll carefully treasure on the back of his mind, with the other ones he already possess, with the other images that have permanently engraved themselves on his memory.

His eyes outline leisurely his delicate contours, the smooth skin, its uniformity only interrupted by light, meaningful scars and a couple of stray lovebites his own lips made a few hours ago. He shudders briefly at the sudden assaulting memories, the recalled heat and the unforgettable electric shocks the purple marks bring along. He fights against the involuntary reaction of his lower regions to continue the inspection, not the right time for physical urges, he scolds mentally. Because the sight he has in front is definitely too precious to be wasted. He goes on, observing down to the last detail, like a photographer eager to capture as much images as he can of a beautiful landscape before it naturally changes.

He unconsciously matches his own breathing rhythm to the Italian's steady one, relaxing every single muscle, slowing down the speed of his heartbeat. No other thing in the world can shut down his usually overactive nerves more efficiently than this.

His irises move unhurriedly over each line until they come to a halt over the familiar features of his face. It's like two sides of the same coin. He marvels at the utter beauty of Valentino's sleeping look, his expression as relaxed as ever. It might be the only occasion he gets to see him this bare, this unguarded.

This trusting.

It still throws him off entirely, sometimes, how he has gotten this incredibly fortunate. Because of all people, _he's there_ , sharing his bed. _He's there_ , receiving most of his glances, touches and words. Who would have thought?

Once in a while, he recalls all those hours he had spent watching the man he has in front, race. All those hours he had dedicated to analyse his moves, trying to decipher what made him the champion he was, what made him that good, that successful. That special. He was very talented of course, no one in their right mind was able to deny that. But it hadn't been until he had finally meet him, until he had properly talked to him, until he had looked into those eyes, when Marc had discovered that what made him such an outstanding rider, such an attractive idol, had nothing to do with his riding style.

The object of his thoughts suddenly moves, very slightly, as smoothly as usual when sleep. His eyes remain closed as changes his position to lay face down against the mattress, while an adorable, unintelligible mutter leaves his lips. Marc can't help the soft smile that streches his lips when the Italian's hand unconsciously reaches for something to hold, finding the younger's one on its way. And it's still feels overwhelming, at times; the electrifying sensation that goes up his nerves anytime they establish physical contact, how well their palms and fingers seem to fit together.

He is never able to avoid certain flashes to escape from his memory every time he wakes up besides him.

His mind automatically travels to that magical 2014, to those years they had spent fooling around each other, until the season ended and somehow his body finally found the courage to push their friendship to the limit, to turn their connection into something more. They weren't a couple, that much had been wordlessly established between them from the beginning. Simply because they couldn't. The world wasn't ready for that yet and neither were they. But he doesn't need them to be, honestly, for the time being, this is more than enough for Marc. He didn't need to put a label on it to make it real. Apparently, neither of them did.

"Buongiorno" Valentino's harsh, faint whisper suddenly breaks through his hurricane of thoughts, effectively bringing him back to reality, to the present, to that precise moment he hopes he won't ever forget.

Marc's gaze finally unglues itself from their laced fingers, where it had been fixed on for several minutes, to improve the stunning vision even further. Valentino's right blue eye sleepily stares back at him, half of the Italian's face still covered by the pillow his features are pressing against. The innocent vibe the position gives to him it's nearly angelic. Ironically, that ends as soon as his neck does, because there is absolutely nothing innocent about the way the white sheets perfectly wrinkle on his lower back, covering but outlining wickedly well the tempting, perfect curve that follows.

"Already checking out my ass? Not about losing time, are you?" The remark could have flushed him if he was the slightly bit embarrassed about it. (and if is voice hadn't sounded that hot) He simply gives in to the first impulse that hits his muscles and crawls over to him, letting his grinning face bury itself on Valentino's slender back. The italian just lets out a soft chuckle in response, the slight vibration transferring itself all over his sprawled frame until the rumbling makes contact with Marc's cheek. The Honda rider takes the opportunity to lose himself on his scent, the pleasant smell of shower gel that is so distinctly Vale's, enveloping his senses completely.

"Mmm, you know I'm not likely to waste time" his words end up muffled against the Italian's skin and for a moment he actually doubts anyone would have been able to understand them at all.

"Oh, believe me, I know that" he whispers, nonetheless, as Marc starts leaving a trail of small, playful pecks between the Yamaha rider's shoulder blades. The pleased sigh he gets in return is reassuring, encouraging, it always makes a tiny spark of pride expand in jolts through his veins, like raw, pure electricity. Because it means Valentino finds his presence as delightful as he finds his.

It even frightens him sometimes, how much he craves these moments; this tiny breaks from absolutely everything, an odd pause in their literally racing lives. Because here is where he has found enough comfort to come out of the shell, where he's allowed to be the truest version of himself, where he doesn't have to pretend neither act. Where he can be free, and know that the older rider will correspond that freedom. With him. Because even then they seem to match, be it another point of the long list of things they connect in.

Again, who would have thought? There was a time when he mentally rehearsed every single word he should say if he ever got to meet his idol. And here they were now. Their interactions as wonderfully improvise and uncertain as the result of the next race. _Because you have shown me I don't need to worry. No when I'm with you._

He notices how his lips linger that bit longer against Valentino's tanned skin when his brain swims in between the almost endless enumeration of things he absolutely adores about the Italian. 

However, with a swift movement, Vale's body suddenly moves under him, the sharp twist of his hips brusquely taking him out from his reverie. Before he has time to comprehend how, Marc finds his own back pressed against the fluffy mattress and the moment he actually registers the purpose behind the older rider's actions, it's already too late.

A string of laughs reverberates out of his ribcage before he can do anything to stop it, Valentino's sinfully cheeky fingers tickling his sides relentlessly. His muscles jerk involuntarily in all kind of directions, his limbs executing abrupt torsions in order to protect his most sensible points as much as possible, a manoeuvre that turns out pretty useless, cause Valentino knows his body to unsuspected limits.

"V-vale...St-top, plea-ase, please...s-stop" his lungs tremble in the most wonderful way, the air embraces his attempts of words falteringly while the Italian's touches keep on sending tingling jolts through his nerves, enhanced by the bareness of his own chest.

"What...are you willing to do for me...to s-stop?" he notices how the question leaves Valentino's throat with difficulty, tangled in between amused chuckles and the effort of trying to hold Marc's fidgety limbs down.

"Ba-astard" the curse is accompanied by a shiver, the other's teasing tickles not stopping. Still, it's the only reply he can muster given his current situation.

"I thought we had established you were the small fucking bastard" the italian laughs playfully, finally having mercy on him, at least, enough to stop his attack and fully straddle him.

The Yamaha rider's light weight on his lap feels too good, his piercing gaze heats up the path it follows all over Marc's torso. He pants, not only because of the previous effort but also because of the sudden observation. It always does things to him, the way Valentino looks at him. The way he had always seem to look at him, with interest and an overwhelming kind of curiosity, now mixed with an undeniable hint of fondness, making Marc feel like a precious being every single time, as constantly studied and analysed by those eyes. And now it's not different, if anything, a bit more mischievous. But it had always made him feel more thrilled than uncomfortable, because he knows it's never meant to judge, but to know, to comprehend. 

Marc's lets his own hands wander over Valentino's sides, his fingers tracing the familiar paths he knows the other will react to. The sound of a faint sigh is music to his ears. He allows his index finger to caress the Italian's bony hips, stopping at one of his favourite spots, a grin already making its way up to his lips. The shell of the ridiculously endearing turtle Vale has tattooed on his left hipbone peeks over the elastic of his boxers. Marc can't resist the urge to tug at it to reveal the comic animal entirely, smiling back at him while it displays his owner's trademark yellow forty-six.

"Stop looking at her that mockingly, she'll get offended" Valentino warns, not fully succeeding at imprinting a serious tone to his sentence, only amusing Marc further.

"She? Has she had a name all this time you never told me about?" He laughs, while tugging at the fabric a bit more, this time with a different purpose, that Vale seems to grasp automatically. As usual. He bends over Marc, placing one hand besides his head.

"You are an ass" he nearly doesn't registers the insult affectionately directed at him, his muscles already throbbing excitedly when the Yamaha rider's lips brush his. But the damned contact never happens, because the next thing he knows is that Valentino is already on his feet, out of his reach, the lack of warmth he leaves behind slapping Marc as hard has the italian's action has.

"Serves you right, for laughing at my turtle" Valentino teases over his shoulder, already making his way to the bathroom. And Marc can't even get annoyed at him, no when his blue eyes twinkle like that, not when he gets to witness such a view. He will have more opportunities, though. They have the whole weekend ahead of them, and the thought will never ceases to excite him.

After a couple of contemplative minutes he finally sit ups on the mattress, eying the thin stripe of sky between the curtains that he can get a glimpse of from his position.

It looks gloomy, it might rain at some point of the day, but nothing that will stop them from racing a little bit. He smiles to himself. Another characteristic that links them together is their apparent inability to keep themselves away from a bike for more than twenty-four hours. They understand, better than anyone else, that craving for speed. Sometimes a single look his enough between them. A scary amount of times, to be honest. Nonetheless, it has always fascinated him, how Valentino is able to grasp his thoughts without needing Marc to voice them. It was something else.

He streches the muscles of his back, his vertebrae cracking slightly, signal that his body is fully waking up from its state of inactivity. He hears the water tap being opened at the other side of the door, the shower already running as he crosses the room, the pleasing coldness of the floor quickly sticking to his bare feet.

He's about to exit the room when the door of the bathroom opens, the sound of the turned doorknob deliciously familiar, because it isn't, by any means, the first time this happens. And the message is clear as ever; he's more than welcome to join in. Another smile takes over his features, his senses already trembling, because who is he to refuse that?

 

~*~

 

"Same as usual?" Valentino asks with that light tone of his that Marc absolutely adores as they make their way across the kitchen.

"Yep, please" he nods swiftly while his arms propels his body to hop on the counter. The marble surface transfers its low temperature to the skin at the back of his tighs as soon has they make contact with it. He should had probably put on some joggers, but upstairs, Valentino's oversized sweatshirt had seemed enough over his clean pair or boxers.

The pleasing aroma of coffee starts extending through the air, filling Marc's nostrils with an information that his brain instantly links with _morning_.

During his childhood, there hadn't been a single breakfast lacking the smell of coffee his mom prepared. He knows it still happens, although now he's the one missing from time to time. Yet, he knows his family doesn't mind, not as long as he's happy. And in this very moment, he wouldn't describe his emotions any other way.

"Slept well?" The italian's question breaks his stupor once again. He observes Valentino's always quick, restless hands, switching from one action to another, the smoothness he does everything with always seeming oddly mesmerizing to him.

"Mm, I did" he finally replies, bouncing his legs lightly, his good mood reflecting on each movement his muscles execute. Because yeah, he always sleeps well with Vale's warmth against him, his presence ridiculously comforting, safe and secure "What about you? I didn't kick you this time, did I?"

He jokes, remembering one of the first nights he had spent at the Italian's. His body apparently doesn't stop, not even on his sleep. In his defence, he had never spent the whole night with someone at the other side of the mattress. But Vale had just cuddled against him, which turned out to be enough for him to stop moving.

"You wouldn't be Marc if you didn't" The Yamaha rider chuckles as he finally rises his gaze to meet Marc's. He supposes the guilt he suddenly feels, reflects on his face, as well, because Valentino doesn't take long to reassure him with a caress on his bare knee, the touch feeling unexpectedly electrifying "Just kidding, you didn't. I simply...had a bad dream, that's all"

He takes a moment to take in Vale's expression, to decipher the hidden meaning behind the words.

"Wanna talk about it?" he finally asks, tilting his head slightly to catch the Italian's eyes, to will him to look back at him. He knows they can't keep anything anything for themselves if they establish that connection. They already know each other too well for that.

Vale seems to be contemplating the offer, and Marc already knows what he's doing, what's going on in that smart head of his. He's trying to downplay it, as usual. All these years have been enough for him to recognize a pattern, Valentino's reluctance to share his not so positive feelings, his earnest emotions, as if they weren't important. As if they weren't worth commenting. And Marc doesn't know anymore how to show him that he was there for that too, that their undefined friendship doesn't just consist on fooling around and having fun. I stopped to be just that a long ago.

"Vale" he finds himself in the need of grabbing the the older rider's attention, the nickname leaving Marc's throat almost as a scold, when he notices that Valentino is trying to dodge his question as much as his gaze. _Trust me._

"Perhaps" the italian finally sighs when Marc gently grips his wrist, keeping him from opening one of the cabinets "I dreamed I crashed on the race, at Silverstone. Exactly what we need, uh?"

The confession adopts an ironic tint that ends up sounding painful rather than mocking. Marc takes a deep breath, the air leaving his lungs as slowly as it got in. It's so easy to forget everything related to the championship when he's with Vale this privately, despite the fact that the italian's entire being reminds him of racing. He curses himself for being so inconsiderate, for going over the matter that easily, over the fact that Valentino's is currently riding a bike that apparently refuses to go fast. He knows how frustrating it can get, how it must irk the older, knowing that no matter what, that Yamaha won't match the talent of his rider.

Unconsciously, the hand he has curled around Vale's wrist travels up smoothly, until it ends against the side of his neck. The italian finally looks up at him, dedicating him a weak smile before giving in to Marc's touches.

"We both know that you wouldn't be this far on the championship if you had a competitive bike. You are doing amazingly" he whispers the last phrase against his rival's temple when Vale comes closer to bury his face against Marc's shoulder. They spent a few seconds like that, the silent atmosphere only broken by the faint tinkling of the coffee pot, as he opens his legs to accommodate Valentino between them. The height of the counter allows him to throw his arms around him, for once not having to stand on the tip of his toes to compensate the difference "And it will get better, bad periods don't last forever. You'll do great at Silverstone, because you deserve it"

He feels Valentino's thumbs soothingly tracing circular motions over his sides, a low chuckle coming out stifled against the crook of his neck.

"Sometimes I forget how young you still are" the Yamaha rider muses, unintentionally creating an uncomfortable knot at the bottom of Marc's throat, suddenly feeling way more immature than he is. It always nests at the back of his mind, the possibility that Vale might not want this to become a thing because of the age gap between them. Even though for Marc it's already a thing.

Obviously, his sudden, internal discomfort doesn't go unnoticed to the older, Marc doubts any of his mood swaps ever could.

Warm palms cup his face as greyish blue eyes lock with his. He doesn't know when they had gotten this close, but he could count Valentino's long eyelashes if he wanted, the little, almost imperceptible freckles scattered all over the bridge of his perfectly straight nose now visible for Marc, who nonetheless, knows the location of each one of them by heart. The smell of his favourite aftershave envelopes his senses from all the possible angles and becomes nearly the only thing he can think of when their lips finally crash together.

Since they broke the barrier of physical contact, a fair amount of months ago, and eventually allowed themselves this kind of intimacy, they have shared a good number of kisses. Each of them with their own special details and traits.

He had thought about a lot of things while kissing Valentino in the past. He recalls perfectly the way his brain almost collapsed the first time they did, after that Gala of 2014, where they both were clearly too drunk to care. Back then he couldn't believe he was actually making out with his childhood hero. Or the the sorrowful one they shared after that crash in Valencia 2015 that made Valentino loose the title. That night, he remembers how desperate he had desired the Italian to feel better. Or the hungry, delighted one Marc had initiated when he won the 2016 world championship, until he had reached a point where he couldn't think anymore.

The strange fact about this one, though, is that he's not actually thinking, this time, his limbs move as if powered by a new engine that isn't located on his head, but way lower, dangerously closer to the beat of his heart. It starts soft, delicate, as if Valentino was actually afraid of applying too much pressure over his skin, as if he was apologizing for creating an uneasiness inside the Spaniard he probably can't understand himself.

But gentle has never been their thing, that much is proved once again when his own tongue immediately searches for the italian's, the moment they make contact getting more electrifying with each passing second. He doesn't know what has gotten into him, or where does the urge to pull Vale impossibly closer, comes from, but his own movements become almost avid, greedy. He has never been more scared of letting Valentino go. But the possible reason for that scares him even more.

Warmth and chills simultaneously spread from a point on his lower back when he feels the familiar caresses of those nimble fingers under the fabric currently covering him, prompting Marc to hook his ankles behind the Italian's body. He doesn't know how, but Vale seems to get, to comprehend his longing, flawlessly reacting to it with tender movements that become the perfect combination with his demanding ones. They have always been good at that, balancing each other out.

He keeps his eyes closed for a while longer when they finally break apart, not feeling entirely ready to come out from their little bubble just yet. Their laboured breathings fill the air around them, mingling with the scent of that breakfast he has almost already forgotten about. The weight of Vale's eyes on him finally gets him to lift his eyelids. And just like that, those pupils irradiating fondness and some kind of wonder he can't quite place, are enough to erase any sort of grief that could have momentarily filled Marc's chest.

"We should hurry up if we don't want the rain to ruin our little race" the italian mumbles as he reluctantly disentangles himself from the younger's hold, but not without delivering an incredibly tender kiss on Marc's cheek first, that feels absurdly intimate, even given their previous activity. But the message had seemed so clear, the _I trust you_ so naked, that his legs would have probably given up if he wasn't sitting.

However, the routine that follows is deliciously known for both of them. Jokes and knowing looks flow easily over their breakfast and about half an hour later, their improvised race isn't even bothered by some rain. It's his kind of weekend, alongside race ones. They don't come inside until they are soaked to the bone and neither forgets to mention how angry their moms would be, if they saw them in that state. But he has indeed enjoyed like a kid.

After being on top of a motorcycle for a while now, Marc feels light, Valentino's presence besides him becoming even more enjoyable, something he had found hardly possible, the bar already incredibly high.

But he hadn't been lying before, right here he feels so free, so content that he is never able to find an scenario, a place, a situation, that could make him happier. And that's dangerous, he knows, the way the italian attracts him has always been hazardous for his own feelings.

But he can't bring himself to care, not when, later on, Vale's fingers bury themselves in his hair, stroking absent-mindedly as Marc adopts his favourite position over him. It's the perfect afternoon to watch a film, they both had commented after a relaxing warm bath. And there they are, cuddled between the pillows while the steady rhythm of rain drops hit the windows.

He falls sleep before the rain becomes a storm, lulled into a light slumber by the shooting caresses Vale delivers over his body and the distant rumour of thunder.

"Love you, bambino" he vaguely hears the words being whispered into his hair, followed by a light peck, making his heart skip various beats, the covered flesh of his arms standing on end, his feelings traveling up and down his body like electric shocks. He isn't entirely sure if it has been product of a dream, of his imagination, but it's almost painful to contemplate that option.

As usual, because it's simply on his DNA, he doesn't think about the risks, not too much before saying it back, before baring that scarily sincere " _Love you too"_ that he has been keeping inside his chest for so long.

His eyes remain closed the whole time, he prefers feeling Valentino's presence, rather that see it. In the end, he doesn't even need to visually check the italian's reaction. The tightening of his hold around him and another long kiss, this time behind his ear, are more than enough.

He never forgets a single moment he has spent with Valentino, but he already suspects this one will be engraved on his memory for the rest of his life, regardless how the future turns out. But he will pray for this to last, as much as possible, because he loves these days.

He loves these kind of weekends as much as the race ones. If not more. They have simply earned their own place on his heart, the one besides motorcycle racing. But the largest place has always been owned by the person besides, the only person capable of linking such different universes together.

Yeah, he definitely loves _everything_ about these days. 


	4. Maybe Getting Stuck With You Wasn't That Bad, In The End (Alex/Luca)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex can't believe he's been chosen to tutor Luca fucking Marini, of all people. All he knows is that people as opposites as them could never blend. It's simply not meant to work.
> 
> Alex/Luca High School AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, loves. Two new chapters today. I've been working on them for a while and planned to update them way sooner. But I've kind of busy lately and they ended up taking more time than I would have liked. Anyway, hope you enjoy and don't forget that I would love to read whatever you have to say. Thank you so much for stopping by <3

He hates him.

And he hates his fucking teacher and this fucking, utterly ridiculous idea.

With all his might.

This definitely couldn't be happening to him.

Alex goes mentally over every single action he could have done in this last month for karma to be this bitchy or for fate to be this cruel.

"But why me?" He still insists, the words coming out like a whine rather than a question, simultaneously anticipating and dreading the following answer. To be honest, he doesn't know why the heck he bothers. Mr. Puig is not going to listen to him, no matter how solid or convincing the excuses he may come up with might be.

He should have imagined it. They never asked him to stay after class. Why would they? He was a good guy, if anything, conversations with teachers outside of the academic schedule had only taken place to praise or congratulate him on his work or output. But this time, he had actually had a bad hunch about it. Oh, how right he had been.

"Because you have the highest grades on the class and an impressive capacity of responsibility, an influence that he could definitely use" the middle aged man snorts, putting way too much emphasis on the last words. That was an understatement. And please, as if the indirect compliment would make him feel better now "Come on, Alex, it would be just a couple of weeks, until the exam"

He's pretty sure any trace of color must have vanished from his face, his guts violently plummeting inside him. Lovely. Exactly what he needs, a deadline and added pressure before the test. He wishes Mr. Puig would shut up already, his intentions are more than clear and it's evident that nothing Alex says will make me change his mind.

"If it doesn't work I will free you from it, I swear. But please, at least, try" the teacher adds, finally looking up at him above the frame of his glasses, confirming what he had been thinking and fearing. The decision it's definitive and immovable.

"It's not going to work" nonetheless, he tries once again as he fidgets with the strap of his backpack, the normally bearable weight suddenly feeling like lead against his back, the material digging uncomfortable on the skin of his shoulder. _I can already tell so. This could never end well._  "It will be useless. If you teachers can't manage it, who says I will?"

_He won't listen a word I say. Why would he?_

Eventually, Mr. Puig stops gathering documents on his leather briefcase with a deep sigh, and to finally fix his usually tremendously harsh gaze directly on him, for the first time, with the same expression the veteran teacher uses only on all those students that never seem to know the answer to the questions he asks.

"Give Marini a chance, will you, Alex? He might surprise you" If that was meant to be encouraging, it didn't work at all. If anything, he feels even more reticent about the absurd proposal than before.

_As if._

"I highly doubt that" he utters wryly, bitterly, hopelessly, knowing very well that the decision is made and he's pretty much condemned.

"Only time will say, then" Mr. Puig concludes, accompanying the resolution with a nod before taking his briefcase in one hand and his folded coat in the other "Sorry but it's my last word, Marquez. Good luck!"

Yeah, he'll need it, because he's so screwed.

 

~*~

 

"I want to shoot myself" he declares, letting his forehead hit the cold (and unexpectedly hard) surface of his locker with a thud, nearly exhausted after gathering enough strength and energy to tell his best friend about it, almost failing on the process. If thinking about it was already unpleasant enough, talking about it was definitely a physical punishment.

"Dude, you are so dramatic" Tito chuckles beside him, and even though the open door of his own locker hides his face, Alex can almost see the grin on place. And yeah, maybe he's exaggerating, but he can't find, as much as he had tried, a good reason to be positive about this "Who knows? Tutoring Luca might not be as bad as you think"

"No, it will be worse" he replies brusquely, turning his face to get a glimpse of his so-called friend, his eyes unconsciously narrowed in annoyance. Is he seriously the only one that sees how of a terrible idea it is? "I don't know if you have noticed, Tito, but he hates me"

"He doesn't hate you" His best friend argues, immediately prompting Alex's right eyebrows to jerk up "What? In his defence, you have indirectly established more than once that you don't like him, either"

A stale, bitter scoff bubbles in his throat, pressing to be released. If only. There are so many things wrong in that sentence... Because that's precisely what makes this mess the catastrophe that it really is; his stupid, former crush on Luca Marini, back when he was an awfully naive kid. It lasted way longer than Alex would have liked to, until it had eventually ended once they grew up, Luca became a nauseatingly popular guy and a magnificent jerk, while Alex developed into his obnoxiously common self. A nobody for most people. And had become used to it. He was actually okay with it. Apparently until Mr. Puig decided that putting him in the eye of the hurricane was a good idea. _Fucker_.

"Because we are not meant to blend, that's why. It's how the natural, social structure works. Guys like him doesn't get along with guys like me"

As if to prove his point, Alex vaguely gestures at the group of boys slowly sauntering down the hallway. As usual, _he_ appears securely flanked by Pecco and Franco, easily returning every single wave fired at him, corresponding the preposterous hunger everyone seems to have for the littlest sign of acknowledgment coming from the golden boy.

Alex sighs heavily, his breathing system feeling slower, its working rhythm more sluggish than it ever has been.

Because we couldn't be more opposites, like trying to mix up water and oil. Definitely not going to happen, simply impossible.

"That's nonsense and you know that" Tito admonishes, his frustration patent after an exaggerated roll of his eyes "You are smart, either way, incredibly so, Alex. Are you trying to tell me that you won't be able to deal with it objectively?"

His best friend accompanies the end of his question with the metallic, sharp noise of his locker being harshly closed, nearly making him jump, which honestly does little favors to his already frayed nerves. But it's a good query. His crush on the jock was over now, and he could definitely deal with it like the adult he was about to become. Tito has just given him the key. Keeping a cool, levelled head it's everything he needs.

The weigh of his buddy's hand against his shoulder wakes him up from his reverie, the routinely casual atmosphere of voices, laughs and steps against the floor of the main corridor acquiring volume again on Alex's ears. Somehow, as if everything had regained some of its normality. As if what he had ahead wasn't such a big deal anymore. For once, the chaos of the hall is almost comforting.

"Besides, it's only until the exam, Lex. How long can two weeks be?"

 

~°~

 

Alex knows that it was meant to be a retorical question. But he wants to answer it here and now. Two weeks were going to be eternal. The worst thing, though, was that it hadn't even started and here he was, already yearning it to end.

He nervously tugs at the strings of his hoodie, groping the aglets arbitrarily, without following a logical pattern. He looks at his left wrist, his watch revealing that he did look at it just twenty-four seconds ago. And he has to get a grip of himself if he doesn't want to collapse the moment the italian boy appears. If he does, at all.

Now that he thinks about it, the idea of being stood up doesn't sound that bad, either. It would give him the perfect reason to get away from it.

He has never been this agitated on the library ever before. It was his habitat, his safe place, his sort of sanctuary. The thick silence and smell of books have always have a calming effect on him. But now, that location seems to have lost all of it. He shakes his head, the pen in a tighter grip on his hand, tempted to start writing down some nonsensical words for the sake of having something to occupy himself with, meanwhile.

The thing is, he doesn't need to anymore.

He's here, the dry thud a dark grey backpack creates as it's carelessly smashed against the surface of the table, being a faithfully proof of it. He shrinks lightly, his muscles jumping at the unexpected sound, that, logically, has only been received with glares and uncoordinated shushs.

The next second, Luca is sitting beside him, the noise of the chair scratching the floor too high and annoying for his liking, as well, but he's grateful for the momentary sonorous distraction when Luca's impressively intoxicating cologne makes it under Alex's nose. _Shit, he smells unfairly good._

"Have you ever been in a library before?" He can't hold himself back from hissing wryly, either way, his increasing level of irritation palpably clear on his tone "Stop disturbing everyone"

For a moment, he can't decide if the words were directed at him for the lack of quietness or for bringing him here in the first place. _Damned Puig._ He only needs to glance sparingly at Marini's expression to know that it's something mutual. He was right, he's as excited to be here as Alex himself.

"Please" Luca scoffs, letting himself fall on the chair, knees spread, hands on his pockets, his posture as relaxed and confident as usual, as if he couldn't even let go of it in an unknown ambient. It's simply something natural on him, he notices, apparently intrinsic "Am I even allowed to breath?"

"You are, if you do it quietly enough so the rest of people doesn't hear it" he mutters resolutely, sending Luca's eyebrows up on his forehead. Clearly, he hadn't expected an answer to the mocking question. But he hardly notices the surprised flash that crosses Marini's face, cause it had been ages since he had been this close to the boy. It's evident that he's no longer the cute kid a confused teenager Alex, had crushed on. No, it's even worse. Because damn it if he hadn't grown up nicely. His features have sharpened considerably, his stance more slender, more mature. And although he sees him almost on a daily basis, he definitely didn't think his eyes were actually this blue. Perhaps it's the lighting here, what's making them stand out that disturbingly much?

"Look at that...Is Alex Marquez really joking?" Luca smirks slyly, and he can already feel his blood heating up on his flowing veins at the way his name rolls off his mouth.

 _No, he pronounces your name like anyone would, put yourself together_ , he fights to keep it inside the chaotic havoc his mind as turned into.

"Shut up and get your books out, I'm not here to waste my time" he interjects, very aware of how rude he has sounded. There goes the vane aspiration of keeping a cool head around Luca.

"Bossy" he furrows his perfectly styled brows, the not entirely sincere frown at the verge of looking offensively adorable on him. Maybe kicking his head against the table wasn't such a bad idea "Thought we could make this a bit more fun"

"What do you need help with?" He continues, deliberately ignoring the playful implication. The last thing he needs is his brain wandering around dangerous areas. He lets his fingers drum against the wooden table, the rhythmic tap tap having a stranglely soothing effect on him when swallowing getting a bit harder, as it tends to do every time his level of nervousness rises.

"Everything?" The other boy cackles, but for the first time, Alex notices that it doesn't sounds as offhanded as Luca would have probably liked it to. The grin doesn't last over his lips, his gaze suddenly fixed on the notes he carefully takes out of his folder, nowhere near the humorous glint they shone with before "I mean, I've missed lots of classes, so..."

"Okay, no need to worry. We'll take it from the beginning" he interrupts, suddenly assaulted with the worryingly unbearable need of reassuring Luca. They are here for something, after all. And if the italian actually has the intention of taking this seriously, so will he. Failure was not on his vocabulary.

Not even when it comes to this.

 

~°~

 

The ray of hope doesn't gleam over Alex for long, not when Luca apparently starts to find highly amusing the way he flushes at the minimum gesture. But he swears he's going to combust if the other boy keeps staring at him that teasingly every damn time he struggles to explain something.

The worst thing, though, is that the interest he had thought forgotten resurfaces sluggishly every single time the italian smirks at him or cracks a joke. Cause he doesn't want to admit it, but when away from a crowd to impress, he's as effortlessly charming and charismatic as Alex remembers, which is enough for him to get used to their little sessions of study embarrassing quickly and enjoy them way more than he should.

Still, their encounters effectively provide him with the only confirmation he needed to prove his hunch; Luca wouldn't need tutoring at all if he simply payed a little bit of attention instead of constantly fooling around. If he can grasps Alex's stuttering explanations, he would for sure do it as well during a class. He was remarkably quick at understanding new concepts.

He scribbles down a few tips and notes on the margins of Luca's sheets while the other boy finishes some exercises. Or at least, while Alex thought he was finishing some exercises. It's not the first time it happens, feeling the weight of those striking blue eyes burning a hole on his skin. But he's never been that slow at noticing it before.

God, how bad he wants to know what's going on inside that pretty head of his when those moments take place.

"Got any doubt?" He snaps, not standing the visual pressure any longer, his flesh already prickling.

"I do actually. How do you make it seem so easy?" Luca asks smoothly as he lets his chin rest over the palm of his hand, and Alex would actually be ashamed to admit that he has gotten kind of addicted to the other boy's voice. The answer to that, though, it's not something his mind has within its reach.

"Because it is easy" he arguments feebly, briefly nipping at his lower lip, whising Luca would voice sincerely what's on his mind instead of working him up like that "A picture will last longer, you know"

Silence descends between them for a few seconds as he tries to focus on the notes before him rather than on Marini.

"We are not close enough for that yet" Luca grins, for once displaying the genuine smile that does things to him "But that could be arranged. How about taking the study meeting to another place tomorrow? How does the coffee shop sound, Marquez?"

He can feel the muscles of his hand freeze, immobilized. But his brain has blocked too, and when it begins to work again, it only replays the words over and over again, as if the meaning was going to change the next time he recalled them.

"Are you asking me out?" He didn't want to ask, but his momentarily obstructed system needs the confirmation to continue functioning. Although he's not sure that would be completely possible if he's still being observed as if Luca had come across a singular, awfully rare being.

"So smart for some things, and so slow for others" Luca laughs as he starts gathering things on his bag after a fleeting look at his watch, like if he had just asked about something as banal as the weather. But Alex's mouth is still uncooperative, his usual wit nowhere to be found "See you tomorrow"

Apparently, the stuck answer is not even needed, if the enticing wink he receives is anything to go by.

He'll probably need some extra time to process the last minutes lived.

Definitely.

 

~°~

 

"Look what I've got" a very well known voice whispers dangerously close to his ear as the sight of his locker dissapears and his vision is suddenly flooded by a paper sheet held too close to his eyes.

He immediately gets a hold of the corrected test, eagerly looking for the result on the upper corner of the white surface. A massive smile tugs at the corners of his lips, instantly followed by a bolt of pride that warms up his insides.

_He did it._

"You passed it!" he almost lets out in a squeal, the weakness of his voice provoked not only by the excitement that makes his heart flutter, but also due to the cheeky, disarming touch of Luca's hand against on his lower back as the italian peeks over his shoulder "I knew you would"

And he means it. Absolutely.

"I couldn't have done it without your help, though" the uttered words tingle against his neck, heat quickly escalating up his back, presumably meant to end up on his cheeks, Luca's slight accent seeming thicker than ever.

"That was awfully predictable" he manages to chocke out, almost not successful at concealing the stupid urge of leaning back into him. Even though he had become oddly used to Luca's presence, he still didn't know where the limits between them were. Where Luca wanted them to be, at least.

To be honest, he feels pretty shocked now, impressed because of the other's boy usual lack of reluctance at approaching him out of the library or outside that coffee shop that has become some sort of shelter for them both, in the first place. But they are in the hallway, indeed and there are people passing by. But, for the first time, it doesn't seem to disturb Luca. And just like that, he's assaulted with a foolish, completely irrational sensation of giddiness that makes his guts tingle.

"But it's true" Luca shrugs, finally positioning himself in front of him, his now familiar perfume enveloping Alex completely. And _fuck_ , he looks obnoxiously good today. His hair as perfectly arranged as usual, the dark blond strands captivatingly wavy, irresistibly soft, even though he can't even touch them. What he wouldn't give to try.

"Good job. You deserved it" he states, eventually allowing himself to look directly at Luca's eyes, which hasn't stopped searching for his until he has finally seen his wish granted.

Alex feels utterly conflicted. Awfully so. He can sense his heart clenching, becoming that little bit smaller when his brain catches up with the meaning of the situation and grasps that it's indeed over now and he would have never imagined that he wouldn't have wanted it to. Because now that the goal has been reached and his purpose is complete,  he can only feel a sour sensation lacing up with his huge, prideful sentiment of gratification.

"Thank you" Luca smiles once again and Alex wouldn't be able to deny how he inevitably melts every single time he does. And he returns it, even if it's probably the last one "See you later?"

Alex remembers with impressively detailed precision that day Luca asked for a coffee. He recalls clearly the reaction of each muscle and organ in that precise moment. And now, those few words make his body stop its movement in the exact same way. _Does he really-?_

"But you have already taken your test" he manages to blurt out after a heavy, loud moment of silence. Because that bunch of words imply something completely different. Something that he doesn't dare to even think about yet.

"I know" going by the amused tone, Alex knows that Luca understands perfectly what's on his head. And the bastard has the nerve to enjoy it. Apparently, enough to lean forward and leave a fleetingly soft peck on Alex's cheek. That smirk he secretly loves so much falling in place when he gets a glimpse of his flushed skin, and Alex swears Luca would laugh, absolutely delighted if he could feel the violent hammering of his heartbeat. Although he's not sure if he's able to hear it already from where he is.

He leaves him at that, and Alex couldn't wipe off that stupid grin on his face even if he wanted. Oh, and how bad the wants to do so when Tito approaches him, his facial expression giving away nothing but sly satisfaction.

Maybe he even had to thank Mr. Puig, in the end. 

Maybe he had to agree with his best friend, too.

Maybe they had both been right since the beginning.


	5. Wanna Race Me? AU (Marc/Vale)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had become an interesting, effective way of making money. Still, Marc suspects his mom wouldn't be okay at all with the idea of his son racing at ungodly speeds in illegal races.  
> But what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Besides, he had always been responsible enough to refuse the nearly mandatory ration of drugs and alcohol that came with it all. He was just there to race, and to be the best at it. 
> 
> He was almost there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Rosquez one, because I can't stop writing about them. Enjoy <3

He usually doesn't feel the pressure. At all. Neither the risk. Maybe he did, at first. But not now, not after a few months in which remote streets bottled up with loud people, flooded with the faint noise of expletives, slurred laughs, uttered bets and the constant smell of alcohol and tobacco mixed with the familiar one of burnt rubber, have become elements so well known to him.

He isn't proud of it, to be honest, but it has become nonetheless an interesting, effective way of making money. And that, his family can use right now, no matter where it comes from.

It became actually quite easy; convincing them that it was the result of his nightly job as a waiter, because somehow, he suspects his mom wouldn't be okay at all with the idea of his son racing at ungodly speeds in illegal races. Who would?

But what she didn't see wouldn't hurt her. Besides, he had always been responsible enough to refuse the nearly mandatory ration of drugs and alcohol that came with it all. He was just there to race, and to be the best at it.

And he was almost there.

That's precisely why he finds himself on the familiar suburbs, for the first time, on a Sunday night.

That was the first rule Dani had told him about when they had met. To avoid coming here the seventh night of the week at all costs. It was forbidden, territory of the fastest guys, inaccessible. _You better keep away from it if you don't want to end up humiliated_. _Believe when I tell you won't won a single race in the whole night_. Those were his friend's words during his first days, a couple of months ago. And he hadn't dare to disobey them. Until tonight.

Although he's pretty used to the atmosphere now, he can't help but notice that everything looks kind of magnified today. The crowd at each side of the road is way thicker than on weekdays, bigger, louder. Hungrier.

"You are insane, kid" Marc's head jerks up in the direction the voice came from, his tense muscles relaxing when his brain recognizes Dani's face through the dark visor of his helmet.

The short racer stands against his parked bike, arms firmly crossed as he shots Marc his trademark serious expression, his deep, dark eyes always remarkably sharp and scrutinizing.

But always trustworthy.

"Really? Must I remind you that you were the one bringing me here, in the first place?" He chuckles as he slides the helmet off his head, the chilly breeze nearly making him shiver when it hits his flesh abruptly.

"I brought you the safest, easiest days, so you could win easily, earn some money without risk" Dani simply rolls his eyes at his remark, the gesture so typical of the shorter man, as if he was suddenly regretting every single decision that led to this moment "This is different from what you know"

He hasn't forgotten it, the memory of how Dani approached him the first night he had come to try luck, as clear and vivid as if it had been yesterday. The dark haired man was impressively popular among the people that surrounded all of it. And his help and advice had been an absolute blessing. But he had always kept Marc on the safe side, pushing him those days he knew Marc wouldn't lose a single duel and stopping him when he had thought opportune. But Dani can't protect him forever, he's well aware of that. Besides, it's simply on his blood. He needs new challenges, the level to rise, the game to get more serious. Every single cell on his body craves to see those riders he has heard wonders about. He needed to know if he was ready for that. He craves that meeting with reality.

"You know I'm ready" he states, beginning to walk by Dani's side, the asphalt hard under his soles of his boots, the temperature low against his skin. It's colder than he expected. Or perhaps he's just a bit nervous, restless "New hurdles, that's all. See if I'm good enough for that "

He explains out loud, more to convince himself of it than to persuade his friend. Because anticipation flows now uncontrollably thorough his veins, but not intensely enough to leave behind the sudden pang of nerves that sets his limbs on edge.

"Whatever. Just don't come crying to me later, once they whipe the floor with your overconfident ass" Dani mutters flatly, as if he already knew that he wouldn't change his mind, no matter what.

"Jorge has seen me race" he points out nonchalantly, already knowing that the mention of the other racer would definitely make Dani drop his warnings. At least for now "He's one of the fastests on Sundays and he advised me to come. That means something, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it means that Jorge is a complete asshole" Dani lets out harshly under his breath, burying his increasingly flushing face further into his scarf, his usually serious expression turning into a frown that Marc has always found more endearing than threatening. He knows he has hit a sensible spot.

"Come on, Dani. I thought you two had a thing, you don't have to act in front of me" he teases cheekily as he nudges his friend's arm swiftly.

"It was just once" the shorter man hisses forcefully, now really glaring at him; nonetheless, only ripping a roll of eyes out of Marc. Why Dani kept denying his interest for Lorenzo after their hook up he didn't know anymore "But you know what? Fuck you"

And this time, a sincere chuckle rumbles on the short man's chest, the curse said with more palpable fondness than malice.

Even though his brain is busy trying to keep up with Dani's recommendations and constant supply of information, he's pretty aware of the fact that the amount of people passing by them is gradually increasing the closer they get to their destination. And the way some pair of eyes linger that bit longer on his face, usually followed by undertone whispers or fingers blatantly pointing at him, don't contribute at all to the tranquillity of his already slightly frayed mood.

The temperature tonight seems to be dropping at alarming speed, lower with each passing second. Little, almost imperceptible puffs of vapour accompany visually each of his breaths as Marc digs space at the bottom of his leather jacket's pockets to protect his hands from the cold, his fingerless gloves not being enough for that purpose anymore.

Jorge sees them before they do.

"Hey, Marquez, glad you came" his voice attracts Dani's and his own attention towards their right immediately, from where they can see the green eyed man stroll on over towards them in is customary red jacket, black helmet in hand. He simply greets him back with a nod before Lorenzo's gaze swims over Dani with an evidently displayed, playful twinkle "Hey, Dani. Long time no see"

"Jorge" his friend limits himself to mutter dryly. And Marc wonders, for the nth time since he knows Dani; how the heck the short man is that good at hiding his inner reactions behind that indifferent and collected facade.

"Seems like we will finally be able to see the talent you discovered in action. Thought you'll never let him come" Lorenzo, stops in front of them, as always, oozing confidence. His stubble has grown a bit since Marc last saw him, he notices, but he must have gotten a haircut recently, the wavy, dark strands on the top of his head interrupted by a new strike of red. It suits him.

"He doesn't need my permission" Dani replies swiftly, his tone surprisingly flat as he takes a step forward the other guy. And despite the fact that their proximity only evidences the height difference between them even more, Marc feels as if he was witnessing an incredibly even confrontation. It will never cease to be fascinating, how the short man managed to always keep his short height in the background "Where's Vale?"

The straightforward attempt doesn't seem to take Jorge by surprise, the lopsided grin he tends to wear when Dani is around not faltering for a second. Neither does his gaze as he vaguely points a not fully defined direction behind him. And Marc feels the immense urge of rolling his eyes, cause this situation only keeps on getting more and more ridiculous.

"Let's go, then" Marc finally announces as he takes a few steps, absolutely unwilling to deal with another single sencond of this absurd sexual tension.

Luckily, when he's suddenly aware of what is he doing, his friend is already pacing by his side, his presence incredibly reassuring most of the time. Specially if he's going to see _him_.

Marc had never payed too much attention to it, before. But once you were into the atmosphere of the races, it was impossible not to hear his name, at least once. He had won an impressive amount of times, but the italian racer only appeared on Sunday nights, therefore Marc had never actually seen him. He didn't know what to expect, to be honest, and it hadn't seem important until now. But he would have never imagined it could feel this nerve-wracking.

"There he is, come on" Dani's footsteps pick up speed, now that apparently they have found a specific path to follow, his movements rushed and his cheeks still slightly tinted with a warmer shade. Marc is sure that he is glad to have something occupy himself with after their encounter with Lorenzo.

They see themselves in the need of elbowing their way forward, an odd mixture of smells quickly accumulating under Marc's nose; different kind of perfumes, sweat, alcohol, smoke and leather interlacing in the air. For a moment he actually wonders if his senses are sharper today due to unknown reasons, but the frequent background essence he vaguely registers on a regular basis, has gotten more perceptible since he took off his helmet. Same goes with the deafening combination of words, voice tones and switched on engines.

It's not the scenario, the ambient, neither the preconceived idea his brain could have elaborated what makes his steps falter slightly when they get there. He's sure that if he had come across him walking down the street, the guy would have attracted Marc's attention anyway. Cause damn, he hadn't thought he would be this easy on the eyes. Dani pointing out which one is Valentino Rossi is not even a requirement, if the amount of people swarming around him is a good indicator of if.

The scene could have perfectly been extracted from the cover of a magazine. The guy seems mature, but not enough to take away his allure, while leaning slightly on the seat of his impeccable, dark blue bike. A lighted cigarette in between the nimble fingers of his left hand lets out a dim glow as his owner gesticulates to accompany whatever he's commenting to the chubby man by his side. His posture reveals such an easy, comfortable state that for a spare second, Marc can't do nothing but admire how it brings down the velocity of his overactive nerves.

At least, until those eyes blink away from his previous point of attention to fall on him.

In his whole life Marc had never felt as painstakingly observed as he feels in the precise moment the italian sizes him up, an eerie wave traveling up and down the surface of his skin, and for the first time that night, not roused by the low amount of degrees the nightly air holds.

He observes carefully how he and Dani share a friendly handshake before the italian takes a long drag of his cigarette, his magnetic gaze not fluctuating a single moment its intense study of Marc's being.

"Is it him?" Valentino asks while a swirling string of smoke leaves his briefly contorted lips, blowing it into the freezing breeze. And Marc sees himself absolutely incapable of discerning if his thickly accented, smooth voice sounds amused, interested, delighted or a mixture of them all.

"Yep" Dani confirms swiftly as he crosses his arms over his chest, be it an action to look more confident or to partially shield his body from the air devoid of any kind of warmth "Thought he could try luck today"

The italian nods comprehensively, his spine stirring a little, prompting him to adopt a straighter stance, as if his relaxed muscles were waking up from their previous break, fuelled by an interesting stimulus in front of them.

"I've heard you have no rival. You don't know how much I wanted to finally test that" the older purrs, the orange tip of his tobacco stick getting briefly brighter as the guy takes another puff. And Marc definitely didn't expect the abrupt warmth that strikes his veins at the praise.

"Let's find out, then" he finally declares, more firmly than he thought he would, excitement lacing up with an overwhelming, sharp bolt of determination inside his ribcage. Besides, he has already learned that showing how intimidated he truly might be is never going to do him a favor here.

Valentino smiles slyly at his response, a new twinkle flashing upon his eyes, and another flow of electricity that climbs up Marc's spine.

"Very well, then, bambino. Let's talk about business" The italian chuckles, absent-mindedly adjusting the collar of his dark jacket, the shiny material projecting a mesmerizing effect under the gloomy illumination of the streetlamps and car headlights. And the message that look conveys is perfectly understandable; _what do you want?_

"If I win, I'll get all the money you make tonight" he lets out the ambitious bet before his brain is able to stop the words from leaving his mouth, provoking amused whistles from the people gathering around them, the action automatically followed by heat spreading from the back of his neck. He changes the weight from one leg to another out of frustration, hoping that the lack of proper light will finally be useful and camouflage the reddish remnants of it, scattered over his cheekbones.

If looks could kill, Dani's knifing glare would have for sure been his last vision alive, but the italian racer, on the other hand, seems to find the sight before him way more entertaining with each passing second, silencing the mocking snarl of that chubby guy beside him with a gesture of his hand.

"Apparently the rumours about you were true" the italian grins, as he finally pulls himself up completely, detaching his hips from the side of his bike, his head slightly tilted, the earring on his left ear swinging slightly as his cigarette sways in between his long fingers, apparently studying Marc in detail, as if finding himself in front of a riddle he has to figure out. But his expression quickly morphs into a cheeky look that Marc suspects he should be nervous about "And if I win...will you come home with me tonight?"

He can't actually feel the blood that had previously flooded the upper part of his body, leave abruptly. For a few seconds, any kind of answer gets stuck on the pit of his stomach, his mind replaying the question over and over again, trying to see if he can find a hidden meaning behind it that he could have missed before. Is he actually-?

"Marc..." Dani's voice rises above the chaotic atmosphere around them, the interaction suddenly feeling more like an spectacle than a conversation. But the words still hang in the air, Valentino patiently waiting for an answer, his eyebrows raised expectantly as he gracefully blows away the last, swirling cloud of smoke. Marc's brain feels like gears turning, his senses eagerly analysing the italian's demeanour as much he can. And no matter how much time he spends weighing the tint on the older racer's breathtaking blue eyes, it's not predatory neither aggressive. Simply playful and extremely curious.

"You are on" he eventually agrees, unconsciously tightening the grip on his helmet while his other hand closes around Valentino's, fighting to take his eyes away from the pleased expression his features adopt.

Dani, nonetheless, seems ready to beat him up. And maybe he would have, if Marc wasn't about to race.

Without further ado, he heads towards his bike, ready to give it all. Who says he can't win? Besides, if he does, the reward would for sure be way over what he could gain in a whole week. His guts revolts, his system fed by his main motivation. They needed it.

The usual procedure is followed, Jorge himself calmly standing on the start line between the two of them, his usual smug attitude on full display as he holds a battered, chequered piece of fabric between his fingers.

He can feel adrenaline flowing though his veins, every single part of his body waiting, expectant, anxious. The buzzing of the engine under him is comforting, the surface of his skin no longer freezing.

On his right, the italian mirrors his position, but Marc can't help but notice that he has an odd aura of composure that he's lacking in this precise moment. _Cause he's more than used to this. And you're not._

If anyone has disadvantage here, that's him. But he wasn't going to back away from such an opportunity, he simply didn't have it in him, even if it was against Rossi. He had come with a purpose, after all, and that included, as always, being the fastest.

He lowers his visor, hears the reassuring click, his palms close firmly around the handlebars, his wrist already anticipating the movement.

And with one last smirk, Jorge drops the fabric.

 

~*~

 

  
Marc turns off the engine, for once, the bike feeling almost too heavy, too much under him. He pants under his helmet, the air entering his lungs only to leave milliseconds after. His heartbeat keeps on hammering against his ribs, accompanying the irregular ups and downs of his chest, the noise coming from the crowd momentarily blocked out by it.

Two notes to himself. Firstly, always, always listen to Dani. Second; he must learn how to shut down his big mouth.

He spends a few minutes there, with his partially covered hands still on the brakes as if he could strech the moment further, the cold weather no longer being a problem. His muscles are immobilized, not sure of what could be the best following movement.

Losing.

The word almost makes him nauseous, acerbic and rough on the tip of his tongue due to the lack of use, nearly foreign to him. _And you have gotten yourself into a fucking mess._

Apparently, he's not as ready as he thought he would be. That much has been proven.

 _Idiot_.

He finally gets his throbbing head out of the constricting space of the helmet, although the idea of keeping himself hidden under it has become pretty appealing in the last minutes. His still tense muscles ache almost as much as his bruised ego.

"Come on" he almost jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder, Dani's strained voice reaching his ears miraculously, almost drown in between the shouts and obnoxiously loud cheers surrounding them. The knowledge of the fact, that for once, they are not directed at him disappointing him more than he's willing to admit.

The drops of sweat pooling at the back of his neck cool down his overheated flesh while he blinks a few times, willing his vision to focus on the crowded street again.

"Say it, I know you're dying to" he rasps flatly, his tone surprisingly aloof when he meets his friend's harsh gaze. Better hear it now, what an stupid move it was to expose himself like that.

"Fucking told you so" Dani grumbles, putting the necessary emphasis on each words, his expression reflecting a rare mixture of exasperation, bittersweet accomplishment and annoyance "Serves you right for riski-"

The sound of broken glass cuts the air, car and motorcycle engines abruptly coming into life, too hastily, the audible pattern not corresponding to another round of races.

For a couple of seconds they both freeze, not fully comprehending where the sudden chaos comes from. Until the sound of the sirens makes its way through his ears.

"Fuck, the cops" Neither of them needs the confirmation of the evidence, but Dani whispers it either way, as if their articulations needed the word to be said to start moving "Follow him"

Dani's rushed order catches him off guard, the memory of his lost bet almost vanished of his brain because of the havoc, at least, until his gaze find a pair of blue eyes among the uncontrolled mess of silhouettes.

Waiting for him.

 

~*~

 

He hasn't allowed himself to think about it in the little amount of time available. He usually avoids thinking about future events before they happen. But in this case, he's not even sure he has something to think about, in the first place. Because he doesn't know what to expect, at all.

But definitely not this.

To begin with, the current scenario he finds them in is far from what his mind could have conjured when the italian had asked for Marc to accompany him home.

The park is nearly deserted at this stake of the night, but it would actually be weird to find it any other way at nearly four in the morning. The traffic is also significantly less clogged, the vague sound of it perfectly familiar, necessarily there. Marc suspects neither of them would want it any other way.

His heartbeat has finally calmed his rhythm, his sense back to its normal functioning after the hurricane of a situation the had just gone through. He has never had the necessity of running away like that, the threat always present, but at the same time always distant, as if it was never truly there. He feels a shiver striking his joints, not even willing to imagined what could have happened if the cops had taken him back to his house after taking part in illegal races. What his parents' faces would have looked like. Possibly like failure and raw disappointment.

But it hasn't happened. Better not stirring the topic further. He would have to keep himself away from it for while. Maybe even find an authentic job as a waiter, combine it with his already tight schedule of classes. Yeah, sounds fantastic.

He almost swallows the cup of coffee they had just bought in one of those gloomy 24h places, in one go, grimacing at the slightly bitter taste. After seeing the barista's droopy eyelids and burnt out sneer, he can't say he expected anything better.

A brief coughing alerts his brain of where he is, and who's, in fact, beside him, both sat on the back of a cold forged bench, the soles of their boots steadily resting on the surface of the seat.

He takes in the apparently permanent confident look on his face, making him realize that Valentino hasn't looked the slightly bit nervous in the whole night. Not even when they had nearly gotten caught. _You must be really used to this_. For a moment he actually observes his harmonious profile, the attractive features, but wondering what could have taken him to make money that way. Maybe he simply did it for fun? Or did he see himself in the need of doing it, like Marc? It's not something he usually questions himself about any of his opponents. To be honest, he never does. And that's dangerous, because more often that he would like, they become very close to be perceived by his own brain like machines he has to beat. And it worries him.

Out of reflex, he takes another gulp of the coffee, not by the pleasure of drinking neither because he likes it. More likely to have something to occupy himself with.

The question has been caged on the lower part of his throat since the moment Valentino decided to take the direction that has led them there. But curiosity irremediably ends up taking over his previous self promise of shutting his mouth. It would be good to know what is this all about, each passing moment getting more and more disconcerting. Although he can't deny that it's in fact nice. Unexpected, yes, but also nice. He doesn't think he would have gotten any sleep if he was lying on his mattress now.

"Why hav-?"

"How old are you?" Valentino cuts him abruptly before he can get has much as two words out, brusquely throwing him off. What could that have to do with anything of this?

"That's none of your business" he shrugs, leaving the already empty cup by his left foot to bury his hands on the space of his pockets, suddenly needing that kind of comfort even though he's not that cold anymore. It seems like a pretty innocent request, but somehow, he feels reluctant to share it just like that. If he had learned anything these past months, it is that the less they knew about him in this kind of ambient, the better.

"Isn't it?" The italian replies softly, the previous smoothness of his tone not faltering after the rude answer "You can't be above twenty-two, am I right?"

_You are right._

"Why does it matter?" He evades, instead. Because what he precisely doesn't need now is being treated like a helpless kid "Want to know if hooking up with me would be illegal, as well?"

The same amused glint that he saw in the italian's gaze an hour ago returns swiftly after his wry question, as if he found Marc's reckless responses endlessly delighting. He sees him put his cup of coffee aside, too, although Marc suspects it's still intact. In its place, he takes a cigarette out of his pocket, the lighter coming out of the other. And even though it's an action as ordinary and common as lighting it, he can't help being mesmerized by how elegant Valentino's movements are, how pleasing it's to see him execute the littlest motions. He might not fully trust him, but Marc wouldn't mind looking at him during the whole day, or night, in this case.

"Believe it or not, that was not my intention" the remark is quickly followed by delicate blow of smoke. Marc follows it with his eyes until it evaporates in the air, suddenly annoyed at the faint strike of disappointment that disolves once it reaches the pit of his stomach "But it seemed to the best way to get you on a date"

If he had been still drinking, he would have definitely choked on the coffee. His expression must have been quite comical, if the gleeful cackle the italian lets out if anything to go by. He nips at his lower lip, not able to stop the smile that pulls up the corner of his mouth, at how utterly ridiculous and disconcerting the word _date_ sounds in this context. But nonetheless, he's absolutely unable to discern if Valentino is joking or not. But no way he's willing to analyse how much he craves that statement to hold a hint of truth.

The older offers him the cigar without warning, the blue shade of his eyes even more striking under the pale glow of the moon, unwaveringly scrutinizing, examining him in detail, as if trying to figure out how Marc works, how is he going to react.

"How romantic, after running away from the police" he grins, almost feeling ecstatic electricity flying in sparks when their eyes lock, not being able to stop himself from admiring ridiculously little, irrelevant traits of the italian like the impressive length of his eyelashes or the stray dots of grey scattered over his irises.

"Seriously, though. You might see it as a game, but it's not" Valentino declares once he has grasped the little stick between his middle and index finger. The brief drag he takes brings him back in time and he almost feels like a rebel teenager once again. He gives it back once the cloud of smoke leaves his lungs. He's no longer that immature child. He had to stop being one a long time ago. And he knows what Valentino means. He has felt it tonight. The danger was real, was there, even if it was so easy to feign that it isn't when he was the first crossing the finish line and everything went as planned.

"I know that, but sometimes it's scarily easy to forget that it isn't" Marc eventually confesses after a few seconds of silence, only filled with the vague rumour of the city. Good. Surprisingly, it feels good. Strangely good, to talk so openly about it. Something he avoided most of the time. Even with Dani. But the odd connection he has felt with Valentino only makes it right. It's almost as liberating as riding.

"It's not just that" the italian suddenly mutters, as if he spoke from experience. Marc suspects that might has been the case. But it's not a question at all, he hears it as a undisguised affirmation "You need the money, don't you?"

He swallows with some difficulty, the sassy, nonchalant remark he would have liked to fire back tying into a tight knot. And for the first time that night he can't bring himself to look at Valentino directly.

"That's none of your business, either" he finally whispers under his breath, feeling cold slipping under his layers of clothing again. Because as weirdly comfortable as the older makes him feel, he's not going to recklessly spill every bit of information about his life because of a flutter from those eyelashes.

"Of course" he makes out the breathed syllables after a few seconds, hating the resigned hint it hides "Was a pleasure, by the way"

Valentino concludes, stepping on the remnants of his cigarette as he gracefully stands up. And god, Marc wouldn't have minded the turns of events he had imagined in the beginning. At all.

Damn, it shouldn't be allowed for someone to look that breathtakingly good at fucking four in the morning. And yet, here he is, and again Marc would be absolutely incapable of determining his age, his physique oozing some kind of timelessness he had never seen before.

Getting up turns out to be harder than he thought, its difficulty provoked by how bad he doesn't want this moment to end. He reluctantly gets on his feet, either way, trying to drag, to extend the seconds to its maximum. Even though he was the one harshly finishing the conversation, in the first place. And well, he hadn't allowed himself to think about this in that way, before, but yeah, his flirting skills are way more rusty than he had thought they would be. But he honestly can't remember the last time a girl or a guy attracted him this much after such a short amount of time. That much is proved when his brain automatically values the next following occasion he could see the italian again, and how far and improbable it seems.

That's what moves him, his impulsive nature making an appearance out of nowhere. The lapels of Valentino's biker jacket feel hard when Marc grasps them to draw the older towards him.

But his lips feel perfect against his.

It's amazing, how quickly the response comes, how decidedly the contact is reciprocated, as if deep down, the italian racer had expected it. After that, any other thought disappears, leaving nothing slightly rational behind and he's only enveloped by heat and an intoxicating scent of aftershave, cologne and smoke that he's sure he would have under his nostrils for weeks. And once again, Valentino evokes such similar sensations to the one he experiments while racing; the rush of adrenaline, the increasing speed of his heartbeat, as if any moment now it could run out of his chest. And the freedom. When the italian draws him closer he feels liberated and light, their combined movements ridiculously coordinated for this hour of the night, matching each other's demands like two pieces clicking together.

Valentino's long fingers trace delicate patterns on his nape, leaving goosebumps on their wake, his heart skipping another beat when their tongues collide and all his muscles seem to stir under his skin. And Marc adores every single second of it, every single detail; how light stubble caresses his own cheeks, how soft the older's hair feels against his fingertips, how addictive his motions are. And he can't get enough.

A soft moan leaves his lungs when the longer strands on the top of his head are tugged, his inner system as if lighted on fire when a hand gently descends down his spine, to finally slide inside the right back pocket of his faded dark jeans.

And just like that any possible alarm disconnects from his brain. Only leaving behind the finally released, raw desire of getting to know everything about Valentino. To break into him and see what's really there, under that beauty and that disarmingly unsettling charm. Something he feels is reciprocated, when the italian presses him impossibly closer for a fleeting moment before letting go, leaving Marc's lips asking for more.

"Hope it ends up becoming my business, then" the message is pronounced warmly against the sensitive flesh of his neck, every bit of his body the other is touching, tickling, as if it was burning.

Marc keeps his eyes closed for a bit longer, still not loosening his grip on the italian's jacket, trying to engrave the mixture of sensations on the back of his mind. Until, with one last peck on the side of his jaw, Valentino takes a few steps back.

Now he really feels the cold. It's fucking freezing all of a sudden, and he can't stop thinking about how bad he wants to bury himself under those arms again.

"You should take a rest from it, for a while" Valentino winks at him as he takes his helmet, his sparkling eyes making his muscles twitch, unconsciously yearning for contact once more. And yes, Rossi is probably right. It would be the wisest thing to do. And still, he highly doubts he will be able to do for long. Cause the races have just become way more addictive and necessary than they already were "See you, bambino"

He takes a deep breath, soaking up in the silence once the sound of the italian's bike is no longer perceptible, trying in vain to put in order his messed up thoughts. Only then he vaguely notices the slightly pressure on the back of his jeans, that for sure wasn't there before. A shiver travels up his nerves like lighting at the memory of Valentino's tender touch there, to discover that the recollection is not the only thing he has left behind.

He bites his lower lip, a smile threatening the corners of his mouth against his will as his fingertips close around the bundle of bills hidden there.

No, he's definitely not going to last long away from that mess. He appreciates the gesture, but if that gorgeous bastard thinks that he's going to accept money he doesn't deserve without an explanation, he's very wrong.

 


	6. All I Want For Christmas Is Meeting You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help it. Here you have a Rosquez Christmas Eve AU to entertain yourself on this lovely evening. Massive hugs for everyone out there, loves and of course; happy holidays!

Valentino truly wonders if there will be a year where he will keep the promise of not leaving the Christmas shopping for the last minute. So far, it's clear that this year won't be the chosen one.

He forgets how intense and high the level of anxiety can get from one year to another. The chaos of names, products and ideas on his mind never failing at creating a massive headache whenever he struggles to remember if Luca, his sister Clara, Uccio or his mom mentioned what they could possibly want for Christmas. He had always known that shops opened on December 24th because of people like him, which explains why he feels the nearly irrepresible urge to apologize at every single worker of the mall for making them work today.

He huffs tiredly, eventually dragging his feet towards the elevator of his residential building, the action immediatly followed by the sound of his grumbling stomach. Normally, he would choose the option of going up the stairs, but his body protests at the mere thought, already fed up with carrying bags and boxes around. He adjusts the position of his scarf while he checks the time with a quick glance at his watch. Almost midday. No wonder his belly is already complaining, it has been nearly five hours since he had breakfast, eager to go out and get it all done all soon as possible, flooded by something he can only call christmassy stress.

Now that it is all sorted out, he can feel exhaustion accompanying relief, promising a great nap in what should have been the first day of his brief holidays. He can't even remember the last day he slept eight hours straight in the past month. He's seriously starting to worry about the negative effects the nightly shift on the hospital is having on his own health.

He hastily presses the button, not able to conceal the yawn that momentarily strechtes his lips. Yep, he definitely needs some rest to face tonight's dinner at his mother's house and all the festive drama it usually brings along, for the sake of his sanity.

"Hey! Hold it open, please!" His hand reacts at the unknown voice before his brain does, stopping the elevator's metallic doors from closing up. His limbs are probably still connected to the region of his head that keeps his system active even when he doesn't have any energy left "Thank...you"

Valentino's breath catches at the base of his throat when the owner of the shouted request appears in front of him, because it must be, without a doubt, the most beautiful stranger he has seen in a long time, which is to say a lot, given the impressive variety of people he gets to observe at work on a daily basis.

He's not sure of how much time he spends rummaging inside his mind for something coherent to say. But, in his defence, he must point out how incredibly distracting that face is.

The guy seems pretty young, which by the way, doesn't make Valentino feel any better at all, especially when his gaze get hooked up on the boy's balanced features, high cheekbones and captivating dark eyes.

"You are welcome" he mutters with relative difficulty, trying his best to stop the once over, mandatory checking out his eyes want to complete right away at the sight of him. What he definitely doesn't expect is the one he gets in return, which he must have definitely imagined.

"Ehh...can I?" It takes a bunch of embarrasing minutes for him to grasp that he's standing on the way of the floor buttons panel. Heat escalates up his neck like it hasn't done in a while. Shit, he can't even remember the last time he blushed and it only took five seconds of being on the presence of this gorgeous guy for his cheeks to tint lightly.

"Yeah, of course, sorry" he steps aside, changing weight of the gift bags from one side to another, looking for something to distract himself from the suddenly really evident, pleasing scent of cologne his nostrils are starting to register.

"Thanks" the boy smiles as he selects the third floor and in that very moment Valentino knows for sure that he's pretty screwed because damn him if he's not going to be thinking about that fucking perfect smile for what's left of the holidays.

The murmur of the elevator beggining its movement it's strangely calming, giving him some time to organize the chaos forming on his already filled up head, to think of the best way to use the twenty seconds he's been granted with this beauty of a stranger. Normally he would let it go, but he has the feeling that he will regret it for weeks if he does, there is an unusual sensation on the pit of his stomach, telling him to seize the brief moment. Nonetheless, the " _hey, you are so hot, we should meet up sometime_ " he can only come up with right away is definitely out of the question.

Something that wouldn't immediatly scare him off would be nice.

He doesn't have time to think about a better way to strike up a conversation because his absurd train of thought is violently cut by an eerie thud at the other side of the cubicle's walls. Apparently, both of them need a few seconds to understand that they are no longer moving.

"Fuck" he curses when the flickering of the artificial lights above them is all he needs to confirm his suspicions. That's why he should have picked the stairs. Fuck, this definitely can't be happening to him "Really?"

He doesn't know who is he complaining to, probably the universe or whichever type of superior force that has decided this could be funny. Perhaps fate is simply teasing his lazy ass, or maybe for waiting until the last day to do the shopping. He had to take the elevator today, didn't he? Of course, the first time on the whole month. Unbelievable. Just his luck. Just his fucking luck.

"You have to be kidding..." the boy whispers, momentarily startling Valentino and his attempts of drowning in self-pity. His precious dark eyes widen, incredulity clearly reflecting on them and he has to resist the urge of kicking himself for not realizing sooner that he's not the only one there. In that moment, he doesn't know if he's irritated or glad, because out of all the possibilities, getting stuck with someone like _him_ it's surely not something to whine about.

"Did it really...?"

"Break down? I'm afraid so" he nods slowly, voicing what both of them must be thinking "Hold on, I'll call the emergency number"

He swiftly fetches his phone, introducing the digits written besides the floor selector within seconds, letting his quick at reacting instinct take over, as if a new patient had made it into the emergency room and he had to come up with a solution as fast as possible.

"O-okay" he vaguely hears the guy muster up before his attention is catched by the monotone voice of the operator at the other side of the line.

The conversation doesn't last more than one minute, what it takes for him to give the adress of the building, yet it feels like an eternity, as if her reassuring words weren't sincere enough.

"They'll be here in fifteen minutes, aproximately" he communicates out loud, repeating what he has been told, right after hanging up.

"Okay" The young stranger accepts the resolution with a nervous inclination of his head, making Valentino's alarms go off all of a sudden. _You don't sound okay_ , and he must admit his sensibility regarding people's true states has developed a lot due several years of work.

"Is it?" He asks directly, holding back from stepping a bit closer and putting a calming hand hand on his shoulder "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, it's just...I'm not a big fan of reduced spaces" he gestures around, aimlessly pointing at the four, cold walls surrounding them. Pieces simultaneously click inside Valentino's head, his muscles tensing automatically.

"Are you claustr..."

"No, no" the boy cuts him straight off, the look on his face not being the one of someone that it's about to have an imminent panic attack, what appeases Valentino greatly "Just kind of hyperactive"

He releases the deep breath that got momentarily caught on his trachea as his reflexes abandon their too intense state of alert. That would explain the restless tapping of his sneakers, the constant movement of his nimble fingers or how often he changes the weight of his body from one leg to the other. Still, those overactive urges could be potentially problematic if they spend more time there than necessary.

For an stray second, silence falls between them, only broken by the faint, still audible _Jingle Bells_ that sounds through the speaker, which Valentino hadn't even noticed until now, reminding him what day it is. Which is ridiculous, given that it's what got him into this mess, to begin with.

"Are you visiting someone?" He inquiries out of the blue, the question a being a mixture of how much he wants to talk to him and how bad he wants to distract the boy from the fact that they are trapped in a pretty limited space. Who knows? Maybe it was actually a blessing in disguise. Wasn't he the one looking for the best way to strike up a conversation five minutes ago?

"Nop" he answers quickly, the way he emphasizes the p at the end disconcertingly endearing "Actually, I live here"

Valentino's eyebrows arch instantly, something ticklish revolving inside his chest.

"You do?" He can't help the surprise in his tone, curiosity obviously peaking "I mean, I haven't seen you around before"

 _Nice save, Rossi_. He is at the verge of rolling of his eyes, and he might have, if the most charming laugh he has ever heard hadn't caught him off guard.

"Maybe you don't remember" the boy shrugs while he spares him a glance from under his ridiculously long eyelashes, the gesture everything but inocent.

"Believe me, I would remember" he returns the hidden attempt of flirting, suspecting that it's probably the answer the guy was expecting. But to be honest, he seriously doubts he would have missed someone like him if they had come across each other before. It was practically impossible.

"I'm Marc, by the way" he shakes the offered hand, deliberately ignoring the pleasing sensation that spreads up his wrist, glad he's finally able to associate a name with him.

"Valentino" he shares back, adoring the way it makes Marc's full lips strecth into that smile of his "But you can call me Vale" _You can call me whatever you like, in fact._

"Okay, Vale" He's sure that unforgettable, mischievious expression will be replaying on his memory for days. He doesn't think he has ever enjoyed his name being pronounced by someone else that much before "So...last minute shopping?"

He bets the exaggerate amount of bags he's holding gives it away.

"I guess it's pretty evident, isn't it?" He chuckles, making them sway on his arm mockingly. For once, glad that it provides him a good excuse for joking "I'm hopeless"

"If it makes you feel better, you are not the only one" Marc cackles, briefly eying the little, red bag he keeps on fidgeting him, the mesmerizing twinkling on his gaze making it impossible for Valentino to look away.

"Come on, you can't hardly consider this the same" he snorts, not letting the opportunity of messing up with Marc go. The playful smirk he gets in return is worth it, though, feeling indescribably light, as if the accumulated fatigue was no longer there "Good plan for tonight?"

He doesn't know what pushes him to ask, it's not something he would talk about with someone he barely knew, maybe it's because of the strange atmosphere that hangs in the air at this time of the year, floating over every corner. Maybe it's because he really wants to know more about the magnetic guy he has just met. At this point, he can no longer deny neither bury the interest his new neighbour has managed to awake on him.

"The usual, coming back home. But this year it feels kind of special, you know. It's the first time I've been living on my own for such a long time" Valentino has to bite his lower lip to supress a grin, the way his speech picks up speed with every uttered word absolutely adorable "My mom will freak out when I tell her I got stuck on the elevator"

"I'm sure she will" he concedes, the statement reminding him of their surreal situation. Valentino nearly swears out loud. For a moment, his attention has been aware of nothing but Marc.

The elevator music changes to _Silent Night_ in the background. He tilts his head back when another round of silence settles in the cubicle, leaning it against the wall while he scans the stunning guy's expression, sensing a wave of goosebumps taking over his skin when their eyes connect, feeling he could stare at him for ten hours straight. In his defence, Marc still looks like a model extracted from a photoshoot, even under the dim lights looming over them. He doubts there is something out there that wouldn't flatter Marc.

"You know...would it be weird if I ask for your number?" Marc questions without any kind of warning, his features contorted in decided boldness and Valentino has to mentally repeat the bunch of words a few times to make sure he hasn't imagined it "You know, just because you are really nice and I don't know anyone else in the building yet but it's okay if yo-"

"Marc" he cuts him off before he even gets to finish that preposterous sentence. As if "Give me your phone"

He must add the way Marc licks his lips while he registers the combination of numbers on his IPhone, to the long list of gestures of the younger that he's finding blatantly addictive.

"Thanks" he gets to hear when he gives the device back, entranced by Marc's accomplished look and the wave of wonder that has taken over his face. Valentino would be lying if he says it doesn't make him feel overwhelmingly flattered "Hey, would you lik-?"

The mechanical murmur interrupts him, accompanied by the unmistakable sensation of being lifted, and of course, the damned elevator couldn't have chosen a better instant to work again.

"Looks like it's fixed" he comments the obvious, nearly hating the moment the bell rings when they finally reach the third floor. Marc's floor.

"Well, I need to go" he boy nervously nips at his bottom lip, fidgeting with the zip of his leather jacket, as if he didn't know the appropriate way to say goodbye. The cliche branch of mistletoe would have been really welcome right now.

"Marc" he calls out before he had fully exited the space "Merry Christmas"

Because in all honestly, the day couldn't have started better, after all.

"Merry Christmas, Vale" the entincing wink he receives in return warms him up instantly, and he has the pleasant feeling it won't be the last time it happens, if that promising look it's anything to go by.

He takes a deep breath when the lift resumes its activity, nearly light headed, not feeling like sleeping at all now. The rest of the day doesn't look that stressful anymore either. He has just closed the door of his flat when Marc's number  pops up on the screen of his phone, a text waiting to be read. 

Merry, merry Christmas to him, indeed.


End file.
